


Not A Pretty Girl

by shortystylee



Series: A Series of Song One-Shots [9]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Pre-Relationship, vague backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 23:27:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15084077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shortystylee/pseuds/shortystylee
Summary: Jaime ends up in the last place he wants to be after work - a country bar surrounded by coworkers. Oh, and there's karaoke - did he mention that part?Brienne isn't exactly thrilled about it either. Maybe it's because he's technically her boss, or because of their weird history, or because sometimes he's friendly and thoughtful towards her and it confuses her more than anything.





	Not A Pretty Girl

He’s beyond thankful that the workspace they have given him to work in while visiting the Riverlands branch is actually an office – with actual walls so no one can see him and a door with a lock so no one can bother him. He shudders to think about having to sit out on the floor with everyone else, exposed to everyone because of that damned open office concept furniture that the office manager had bought into. _Productivity increase, what a bunch of bullshit_. In his very private office, he’s closed the blinds on the small sidelight window next to the door, closed off from the rest of the workers.

And that is exactly what he wants right now, no one to see him or bother him. To say the string of meetings he’s sat in today were disasters is an understatement. He hates that it’s part of his job to show up, fly in from the corporate office, and pretend to be just as capable of wielding the influence of the Lannister name in the same way his father could.

Jaime flops down on the old couch, a garish reminder of years gone by in a horrible shade of green tweed, and finally allows himself to loosen his tie. His eyes make a quick sweep of the room, confirming that, unlike his office back at the Kings Landing building, there is no mini-bar here. He curses under his breath and realizes he’ll need to leave the office to get the drink he desperately wants. For a second, a very quick second, he thinks about asking some of his Riverlands colleagues for a suggestion on where to get a good drink in town, but he realizes that everyone else has left for the night already, and that the last thing he wants is to possibly have to go out for a drink  _ with _ them, so he pulls his phone out and dials the one person he knows will have a good suggestion.

“Brother, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Tyrion asks. “Enjoying your little field trip to the Riverlands?”

“Hardly. We’ve gotten the shit kicked out of us in meetings all day,” he starts. “You don’t happen to remember any good bars near the Riverlands office, do you?”

“Of course I do. The Drowned Salmon on Front Street is probably your best bet for drinks, but I don’t think you’ll –“

“Thanks, Tyrion,” he interrupts. He throws his tie into his work bag and begins to pull on his suit jacket. “You’re the best little brother ever.”

He swipes to end the call and rushes out the door.

Back in Kings Landing, Tyrion realizes he’s been hung up on, and just shrugs, putting his cell phone back down on the table in his condo. Bronn looks over from the kitchen table, the same spot he’s glued to every Thursday to drink and play cards.

“Jaime?”

“Who else? I didn’t a get a chance to tell him that the Drowned Salmon is the local bar that all the employees frequent after work… or that I’m pretty sure Thursday is karaoke night.” He picks up his hand of cards from the table. “Serves him right though for hanging up on me.”

XxXxX

It’s a half hour later and he’s going to strangle Tyrion the next time he sees him. He’s already shot off multiple insults via text to him. He’d been hoping for a new bar, maybe a brewpub with good food, or a swanky lounge with a gorgeous long-legged waitress to flirt with… Seven hells, he’d even have taken a sports bar, at least then maybe there’d be a soccer game on the TV to distract him.

_ But no _ , he thinks.  _ This day just gets better and better _ . There’s a glass with two fingers of whiskey in front of him, some brand he’d never stoop to buy at the store even when he was in university, and he’s seated at the counter of a bar that can only be described as part country, part junior college, and one hundred percent blue-collar hole-in-the-wall. There’s a faded twenty-five year old poster of Shania Twain in the men’s bathroom. It goes without saying, but he hates it here.

To make matters worse, a large group of employees from the office are there, drinking and laughing and eating soft pretzels and chicken wings out of an oversized bucket, as if even though they were in the same meetings with him they somehow weren’t having a shit day because of it.

To make matters even worse, apparently it is karaoke night, according to the flyer on the wall.

To make matters even more worse, since gods only knew it was somehow possible, he looks up to hear someone calling his name, and sees junior marketing associate Sansa Stark walking towards him.

XxXxX

Sansa Stark was half-way through a ridiculous story when she sees him enter the bar and take a seat at the counter. From where she sits in the curved booth, she’s the only one able to see him. She was busy telling some off-the-wall story about university; the kind that can make Podrick wish he was back on campus and at the same time make Brienne happy that graduation was eight long years ago. Sansa stops mid-sentence, slams her left palm down on the table and crouches down low, using her right hand to push Margaery closer to the table, and then whispers what she’s just seen to their group. “You’ll never believe me, but it looks like we’ve been infiltrated by a lion.”

Brienne laughs and shakes her head, pushing the martini glass full of saccharine sweet liquor away from Sansa. “Sounds like someone hit their limit early tonight.”

“No, I’m serious.” She pulls her drink back from across the table and takes a sip. “Just take a look at the bar.”

The three of them turn to look at the bar, in a way they assume is nonchalant and inconspicuous, but they’re all a little buzzed and nothing they’re doing is actually sneaky anymore.

“Dear god,” Brienne mumbles. “If only Tywin could see him now. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

“Aww, come on, Bri. I don’t know why you dislike him so much. Sure, he’s a bit of a hard ass, but he can’t come here from corporate and  _ not _ act that way.” Pod shrugs his shoulders and takes another drink of beer, pulling the plate of nachos closer to his side of the table.

“I’ve known him for a lot longer than you have. I bet he’d never stoop so low as to come and sit with us peasants.”

“Is that right?” Sansa asks. It’s not a hypothetical question, which makes Brienne nervous. There’s a look in the young girl’s eyes that was unsettling, something mischievous. She turns to Margaery next to her and flashes a smile. “Can you stand up a second and let me out of the booth?”

Margaery complies, standing up to let Sansa out of the booth. She grabs her fancy blue drink, then winks at Brienne before twirling around on her heel and striding towards where Jaime is seated with a sort of confident step that every Stark she’s met seems to have. 

“Mr. Lannister? Jaime? Is that you?” she asks, her voice getting high-pitched and excited, flirtatious enough to make Margaery roll her eyes at her girlfriend’s antics. When she gets a little bit closer to him he acknowledges her with a nod and a smile, but she lowers her voice quite considerably and Brienne can’t hear their conversation. They all watch her, talking to him a little bit, then turning and point back towards the rest of her group at the booth. He shakes his head and Brienne knows he’s declining Sansa’s invite to join them, but she also knows that Sansa is not the type of girl to take no for an answer. They watch as Sansa says something else, and then brazenly grabs the glass in front of him. Brienne wishes she had half the courage Sansa did. Jaime stands and puts the cell phone he’d placed on the counter back into his jacket pocket, following a few steps behind Sansa, who by now was absolutely beaming at what she just did.

It’s a little bit awkward when he comes over and sits, all tailored suit jacket and slacks that still aren’t wrinkled somehow. They’d all stopped home after work to change, mostly to give Pod some time to let his dog out, but they also appreciated the chance to get out of their stuffy work clothes. The booth is rounded and he sits down on the right side next to Brienne.

Margaery asks what brings him to The Drowned Salmon, and he admits it was a rough day for him too, and that he needed a drink after all those meetings. Podrick glances at the time on his phone, and asks a better question.

“Does that mean we should sign you up for karaoke?”

Brienne can’t help smiling when the esteemed Jaime Lannister all but chokes on his whiskey.

“No, god no,” he replies. “I’ll have to spare myself the embarrassment.”

“Well, the rest of us aren’t going to let you spoil our fun, right guys?” Sansa asks. The group collectively shakes their heads no, and Brienne manages to get Jaime’s attention when she replies aloud with the rest of the group.

“ _ You’re _ going to sing? In front of this bar full of drunk factory workers and Riverlands co-eds?” His tone of voice makes it hard to tell if he’s shocked or if he somehow disapproves.

“Of course she is. She’ll even play that lonely guitar up there too,” Margaery says before Brienne has a chance to speak up, pointing to a well-worn Fender covered in craft beer label stickers, leaning on a stand on the side of the tiny stage.

“Really?”

“I am,” Brienne finally says. “They’re not lying.”

“Well, I guess there’s a lot I don’t know about you,” he replies.

She looks up from her drink and he’s looking at her. He’s close,  _ too close _ , she thinks when she notices that whatever gel he’d used that morning to slick his hair back had lost its hold, and blonde hair fell in front of the bright green eyes that she’s never been able to quite forget since the first time she saw him.  _ How long ago was that now? Ten years? _ His nose has healed nicely since that one punch from Hyle Hunt, the only one he got in during that fight.

XxXxX

Ten minutes later and Jaime realizes that not only is he in for karaoke, he’s in for a show. It doesn’t seem like many of the other bar regulars are signed up to sing, and his table is obviously the most enthusiastic bunch there.

He immediately recognizes Brienne’s choice when she starts with the guitar, and realizes he’s going to have to thank Tyrion for going through an angry women rock singers phase. It’s Ani Difranco, and seconds later he figures out which song it is, then realizes she might have picked it for him.

XxXxX

Everyone else from work is gone, and it’s much, much quieter than before. The karaoke is done by now, and the bar is slowly filling with second shift workers from a nearby factory. Podrick headed home about an hour earlier, giving his dog as his usual excuse, and Margaery dragged Sansa back to their apartment only a few minutes after that.

“You were really good, earlier,” Jaime says, once it’s just the two of them. “The songs you sang,” he adds, as if she doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

“You don’t have to say that, but thanks.” She brings her almost empty glass of beer to her lips and finishes it before she continues, “You can’t possibly mean it.”

“Why would you say that? Of course I mean it.”

Brienne doesn’t like the way he looks at her then, like he’s being genuine, so she fakes a yawn, then makes some excuse about having to go home because of her cat. It’s only partially true. Really though, she wants to get rid of Jaime Lannister, his stupid perfect smile, the bright green eyes that have been boring into her all evening like they know something about her that she doesn’t, and at the same time she never wants him to leave, since there’s been these giant uncharacteristic belly laughs out of him, since there’s been comments and even a few brief glimpses of who was under that suit, and since he’s still sitting just as close to her now as he was a half hour ago, even though they’re the only two in the booth. He’s still got his arm stretched up and around her, but not exactly touching her. She lets him sit that way and tells herself it’s because it’s not worth an argument, when really it’s that her right thigh is on fire from where it’s touching his left, and through the scent of his cologne and the whiskey he’s had there’s a faint hint of sweat, and she’s surprised she doesn’t hate it.

“I suppose it’s about time to head out, isn’t it?” he says when she finishes her drink and pushes the empty glass across the table from her. She scoots out of the booth and stands up to put her jacket on, but before she can stop him he’s already at the counter, flashing that smile to the lady behind the bar and passing her a Casterly Bank black card to pay for both their tabs. He signs quickly and she tries to ignore his hand at the small of her back as they leave the bar. It’s the hardest thing she’s ever done.

“Should I hail us a cab?” he asks when they’re outside on the sidewalk. There’s a streetlight overhead and he sees her blush at what it sounds like he’s proposing.  _ Wait, I don’t want that, do I? Fuck. _ “I think you said earlier that your place is near my hotel.”  _ There, fixed that _ .

“No, no. You don’t need to do that. I can walk home myself.”

“That wouldn’t be very polite of me. Which way is it? I’ll walk you home.”

“I’m perfectly capable of walking myself home,” she spits back at him, her voice a little annoyed, and she turns quickly to face him. She wobbles a bit,  _ stupid whiskeys _ , and he immediately reaches his arm out to steady her,  _ stupid Lannister _ .

“I never said that you weren’t capable,” Jaime explains, a bit of bite on the last word, and his hand relaxes its grip on her bicep and slides down to her elbow where it stays. “Maybe I’d like the fresh air? Maybe I’m trying to be nice to you? Did you ever think of that?”

She sighs, acquiescing, and turns to the right, starting to walk away from the bar. He follows her, hand still on her elbow. Brienne is silent for a block. She doesn’t want to admit that that she hadn’t thought of the idea that Jaime might be trying to be nice to her. When they stop for a red light that actually has traffic crossing, she speaks.

“I don’t understand why you’re trying to be nice to me. You’ve said more to me tonight than you have in the eight years since university. Why now?”

The light turns green and they cross.

“It’s simple. You’re letting me,” Jaime answers a few seconds later. She whips her head left to look at him, finds him looking at her  _ again _ , and sees that he’s not joking. In fact, he’d only made one joke at her expense that evening, not believing if she was going to sing, if you can even call that a joke. She’s a lot more outgoing now than she was at university, so it makes some sense that he’d be surprised that she would put herself out there as the center of attention.

When they’re at the front stoop of her row house, she sits down on the third step and he joins her. It’s not often that she’s around someone so close in height, and most men she meets find it intimidating. She thinks about the situation she’s gotten herself into. It’s almost midnight, and although the brisk night air and the 8 blocks to her house have caused her to sober up a little, it must not have done much because she smiles, unguarded, when she realizes what is happening.

“What’s so funny?” he asks. “I can’t think of the last time I’ve seen you smile like that.”

“Well, that’s probably because each time I see you know you’re in the office to bring down the corporate hammer on us. Tonight it’s just, I guess I never thought this was a situation we’d be in. Isn’t this what they warn us about at orientation? Getting into potentially inappropriate situations with our bosses? I’m pretty sure I had to watch a video about this. Plus, I should know better… history repeating itself and everything.”

“Are you talking about college? Brienne, I wasn’t your boss there, I was hall director.”

“And now you’re your director of design. Tell me, do you purposely apply for jobs where I’m underneath you?”

He smirks and she realizes the opening she’s made for him.  _ Here it comes _ . “Oh, how I’d love to have you underneath me. I’d probably have to fight off a lot of other men for that privilege.”

“Very funny. You know there’s no line around the block for me. I’ve seen enough Mad Men episodes to know I need to be thankful I’m in advertising now, not 50 years ago.”

“For someone so good at their work and knowing what the customer wants to hear, you’re really shitty at knowing what you need to hear.” He pauses and she looks at him like she’s confused. “You’re the only one making fun of Brienne tonight. You’re the one that makes self-deprecating comments. I know we have a past and you keep your guard up around me, but don’t forget that I was never a part of Connington’s bet. I punched Hyle Hunt’s front teeth out when him and Hoat had you pinned in that stairwell.”

She laughs at the memory, happy that she’s able to do so now. “I remember that. Made him finally look like a proper hockey player,” she comments and Jaime lets out a chuckle in agreement. “I still have no idea how you didn’t get kicked off campus for that move.”

“Sometimes the last name does come in handy,” he answers quickly. He hates reminding her about the perks of a Lannister last name, even though they’ve seemed to lessen each year after his father’s death. “And I knew you were capable and able to handle yourself, even back then.” A bit of hesitation crosses his face then, but he reaches across and takes one of her hands out of her lap and joins it with his. She flinches, surprised, but doesn’t pull away. It isn’t the first time she’s held hands with Jaime, though it’s definitely been many years. They sit there, hand in hand, silent, for who knows how many minutes. A streetlight across the road starts to flicker, the neighborhood stray cat walks past, a group of runners, all wearing reflective vests and headlamps, run by, and Brienne eventually relaxes, leaning against him and letting her head fall to his shoulder.

“That song you sang wasn’t all true, ya know,” he says finally. 

“Oh, it wasn’t?” She’s not sure what he’s going to say, or if she even wants to know, but she asks anyways. “Enlighten me, Jaime, what part do I have wrong?”

“You don't have everyone fooled, certainly not me.”

“Jaime…” she starts, though her voice trails off.

He stands, not letting go of her hand, and bends down. He pushes her bangs aside and presses a kiss to her forehead, letting his lips form a smile against her skin when he hears her sigh. 

“I have to go. My flight back up to Casterly is at nine.” 

Brienne nods. She knew this, they all had his trip itinerary from his assistant. “When will you be back?”

“Two weeks. Midterm financial audit.” She stands, him half pulling her up, and lets herself take advantage of the hug he's offering.

“Go get some sleep then. I don’t want the poor flight attendants to have to deal with tired, cranky Jaime.”

Jaime laughs at that, telling her to do the same so she’s not a zombie at the office tomorrow. She watches him walk down the sidewalk, suit jacket now rumpled and hung over his forearm, waiting to go inside and until he crosses at the corner. 

XxXxX

Friday passes uneventfully, and the same with the weekend. Part of her wonders if it’ll be another ten years before her and Jaime have another heartfelt hand-holding session on a set of stairs in the middle of the night. Thankfully, this time around was much less emotional than last time, and wasn’t precluded by Jaime punching someone in the mouth.

She’s ready to put their relationship back into the “Director of Design and Riverlands Branch marketing lead” until she fires up her laptop. 

The meeting invite from Jaime, for two Fridays from now, just named “dinner,” is the first thing she sees in her Outlook inbox Monday morning. 

Brienne's about ready to yell across the room to Maggy, ask her if she's seen this shit, see if she wants to commiserate about how everyone hates after work group dinners, especially on Fridays… but, thank god, she opens the invite before she does any of that. 

She's the only one invited. It’s set to private.

_...wait, what? No _ , Brienne thinks as what this might be hits her. “Shit,” she mumbles, slamming the lid of her laptop shut. She grabs her phone and puts her headphones in her ears while she hurries down the stairs, dialing Jaime’s personal cell as soon as she’s outside.

“I had a feeling I’d get a call from you soon.” There’s a pause and she hears the click of a door latching, assuming its the one to his office. “I thought I’d see a reply to my invite first.”

“Is that invite what I think it is?”

“I don’t know. What do you think it is, Brienne?”

She swallows before answering. “I think you just asked me out on a date with an Outlook invite. Super romantic, FYI.” 

He ignores her comment. “You haven’t replied yet.”

She sighs, exasperated, and hears him chuckle on the other end of the line. Sitting on the edge of a concrete planter, she opens her work calendar and replies that she will attend. 

Maybe he did have a thing for her back in school, she certainly tried to hide whatever feelings she’d had for him. She’s not nineteen anymore, and she noticed how he looked at her, how he treated her on Thursday, and she doesn’t want to ignore it. He’s always giving her these little glimpses of who he actually is, and she’s eager to finally find out what a real relationship with him could be.

A second later she hears the new email sounds on Jaime’s laptop. 

“Happy now?”

“Very,” Jaime immediately replies, and she smiles to herself at how genuine he sounds. “As long as we don’t end up at the Drowned Salmon again.”

“What? But that was my top pick!” Sarcasm isn’t her strong point and she knows Jaime will see right through it.

“Get back to work, Brienne.” His tone is soft with her, unlike how she’s heard him speak when he’s actually in ‘management mode,’ as she calls it. “We’ll talk later about plans.”

Her phone buzzes as soon as she hangs up, reminding her of the weekly Monday morning office-wide meeting. It’s a meeting no one enjoys, not even her, so when she walks in late with a big grin across her face, people notice. She takes the only open seat left, next to Sansa, and starts to ready her notes for when it’s her turn to talk, ignoring the mumbles of  _ at least someone’s having a good morning.  _

Sansa leans over, fountain pen twirling around between her fingers. “You’ve got some explaining to do, little miss sunshine,” she whispers. “Don’t think I didn’t see you haul ass outta here ten minutes ago. You, me, Maggy, lunchtime.”

She nods in agreement - it’s the first time she’s actually looking forward to lunchtime gossip.

**Author's Note:**

> This has been a WIP of mine for way too long. 
> 
> If you want to check out the most 'Brienne' song I know of, it's Ani Difranco's Not a Pretty Girl.
> 
> Jaime/Brienne backstory left intentionally vague, sorry 'bout that.


End file.
